


A lover on the left, a sinner on the right

by DauntlessSubconscious



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Kylo begs to differ, Rey doesn't really dig the Force Bond idea, Strange Things Happen, and when they meet in the battlefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DauntlessSubconscious/pseuds/DauntlessSubconscious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relentless, avid, undeniable: that's the nature of a Force bond. Much like the Force itself, it seeks completion, balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A lover on the left, a sinner on the right

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, fellow sinners!  
> I was told I wouldn't get my ticket to hell just for shipping these guys, that I actually had to write something about them to get the full experience over there... So, here's my voucher, aka, my first Reylo fic that goes out to the world.
> 
> Endless thanks to the best friend and beta I could ask for: rachel_greatest. Girl, best believe when I say this wouldn't be here without your support and kick-ass grammar skills ;)
> 
> I'll shut up now, but you guys don't have to! I wanna hear your thoughts on this! Hope y'all enjoy it :)

 

This isn't the first time they have met in a situation like this. She wishes to be done with this routine they've created, to be free from the perpetual chase; and then again, this feels heavier than duty. This is something that she needs to end, one way or another; she's accepted that much.

This time, however, seems different. She's not so sure how or why, but there's a certain energy in the air between them, something edging their moves. She knows for a fact it's nothing external, no. But it's definitely there. It intensifies with each strike, with each look.

 

He chooses Niman, he always does and Rey can find the gaps in his defense, speeding her attacks to prevent him from using the Force on her. But then, that edge appears again, this time in his favour resulting in a gash on her arm. It's an interesting graze, but it sure stings as she examines it and a small growl escapes her lips.

 

He spins his lightsaber and chuckles, the bastard. It's a low, rumbling laugh, born in the deep of his chest, tinged with heavier, hidden feelings. He's being cynical and her ire rises, leaving a bittersweet taste in the back of her throat. All pretense of calm abandons her; while she advances, it comes to mind how much she despises him, monster that he is, the antithesis of everything her Code stands for. The Light in her, nurtured and trained by Luke, opposes his tendrils of Darkness that threaten to consume her soul, but she's kidding herself if she doesn't recognize this is also part inside job.

 

Her saberstaff hums quietly; his unstable, crossguarded saber spurts energy as the blades lock near their faces. They're both panting with exertion and staring at each other as if their irises could be the key to this entanglement, even blamed for it. He leans in and while she refuses to feel intimidated and recoil, she can see how her yellow and his red mix into a sunset orange glow, like flickering flames casting their light and shadows over his face. She forgets for a moment they're in the middle of a fight, that those intense eyes belong to her enemy, that they're not meant to to share _ so much _ .

 

She refrains from thinking about Ben Solo; her mind struggles for conviction that this man is no other than Kylo Ren, Snoke's war hound, Han Solo's murderer. But Leia has taken up the habit of sharing memories with her. The woman often talks about her beautiful, lonely son; a soft but sad child haunted by times he’ll never see and people he'll never meet. She enumerates her mistakes as a mother, chastises herself for her blindness and carries the guilt with a heavy heart. Rey listens, patient and diligently, because she wants to reciprocate some of the kindness the General has shown her, because she finds comfort and warmth in Leia's protectiveness, things she's craved her entire life. Soon, Ben Solo becomes an acquaintance, a shadow behind Rey's back; much like the burden the _ child of heroes _ had carried on his young shoulders once.

 

She almost feels the sorrow as her own, almost—the real him, the twisted darksider, never leaves the back of her mind. Always probing, always waiting. Always seeking his in through that wretched connection their stupidity had forged. That's when she chooses to blame him for all of it: Leia's pain, Luke's reticence to teach, that damned bond. It's not far from wrong, but it's not right either. It is easier that way, though, and she settles her mind into that belief, allows it to grow and invade her. It works quite well, actually. She finds strength there, enough to keep him at bay and retain a certain appearance of privacy.

 

It all shifts every time they meet, though, if even a little. It's unavoidable, yet she resents that the aftermath never fails to alter her point of view and judgement. It tugs at her curiosity too, forged during her years of scavenging, and suddenly she finds herself wishing to hear more about Ben.  _ What if's _ often flood her mind; yet she doesn't indulge the bond, never the bond.

 

She's well trained —she'd begged and Luke had finally relented—but so is he and their fights grow into an endless dance of attacks and parries. She hates that as much as she hates him. She doesn't mind his skill, but it takes time for their stubborn heads to comprehend that they're evenly matched; and with time comes the ability to think. Thought leads to reflection, but it's the physical closeness that challenges her the most. The bond flares with images, feelings, memories when they're near. Even sharing a star system proves itself as a test on her will and strength; like the shedding of his mask when they first met, facing this man disarms her. It becomes an increasingly demanding task, as her body seems to betray her more often than not and she knows her intelligence can only be fooled so much by her own denial. Rey forces herself to reevaluate her creed after these encounters, tries to return to her simple view of him, only to find that she can't.

 

His eyes bear promise, certainty that they will find each other again. She also resents him for being right. They're orbiting, spiraling into the other and there's nothing they can do to stop it.

 

Luke had spoken about destiny and purpose, but all she can think about is her lost freedom. She's tethered to him, caged to the fate of facing him in battlefields, over and over again.

 

Ren remembers first. That they're supposed to be fighting, that is.

 

“Yield?” he says and pulls back.

 

She, on the other hand, can still feel the burn of his lips on the shell of her ear and jaw; the goosebumps his whisper awoke remain poignant on her skin and she fears they'll never fade. Her mind —devoid of barriers at this point— races with thoughts, she isn't even sure that they all belong to her, but her body is frozen. It's not his use of the Force that's keeping her anchored to this spot, her own muscles can't cooperate if she doesn't know what to do, and frankly, she hasn't been this lost before, not even during her early years when consciousness threatened to leave her after days of hunger.

 

The sudden silence startles her, pushing her out of her reverie and before she can question why he isn't taking advantage of her trance and attacking, she realizes the drone of his lightsaber is gone. Kylo Ren is standing in front of her, the inactive hilt of his saber resting loosely in his hand.

 

She tries to understand, to make sense of this, but all she can feel is the pressure of the blood in her veins and her heart hammering under the influence of adrenaline. Her brow furrows as she takes an Ataru offensive stance. Her muscles tense, ready for the initial leap when she hears him.

 

_ Rey. _

 

But his lips remain sealed.

 

She tries to reign it, she really does. For her Master’s sake, more than anything; because she knows Luke's regrets run deep and he took an enormous chance with her. She imagines what would he say, how he would appeal to her patience. He'd attempt to make her reason, to think. But Rey is tired, exhausted really, and this is too much—this fate, his presence and his lips brushing her face, the fact that he seems more human than ever, the use of this connection she craves and detests at the same time—and she reaches it, the point where the cracks in her armour converge into big ravines, carved slowly but surely, like a river molding the rock throughout the ages. _ I'm sorry, Luke. _

 

She instinctively knows it's her voice that she hears, but it sounds closer to an injured, defensive animal than a trained Jedi. “Get out of my head.”

 

The accumulated anger, the derision for his blood stained hands, her self deprecation for wanting this man; it all blends into a poison that whispers about darkness. She lunges without mercy, ready to land the blow. It'll be fatal, she knows. So does he, but remains impassive, his feet planted to the soft grass below them, his arms limp by his sides. He closes his eyes and drops to his knees, accepting the punishment he's earned through the decades.

 

_ I'm glad it's you... _

 

The yellow blade falls, relentless just as its owner in that moment.

 

Later, when her heartbeat returns to a normal pace and her mind is set free from turmoil, she will understand how the bond could've helped, how much blood has been spilt just because she was afraid of that connection, and her soul will carry the weight of lives lost on her account, because so much could've been avoided if she had just listened to him.

 

She can't stand the hum of her saberstaff anymore, so she deactivates and drops the weapon. Her own body follows, landing on her knees, much alike as he'd done mere seconds ago. She's vaguely aware of the tears running down her cheeks, drawing desperate streams as her hands shake seeking to meet his face. His eyes are welled up as well, but only when he closes his eyelids are the tears free.

 

Her mind is quiet for the first time in years, but that’s not what makes her sigh in relief. She holds his face firmly and his soulful eyes open again. He's utterly confused, she can tell he wants to ask; but Rey is caught in the truth across the bond. There's no denying it now, she can no longer be blind to his complexities, his darkness encasing that simmering, hopeful light. She can't fathom how, but she finds all the details she's heard from Leia there. There's hatred and pain, but there's also compassion, regret. And so much loneliness.

 

“Why?”

 

The unspoken words sit heavy in the little space between them: _ why did you spare me? _

 

She stares at him, her thumb caressing the scar she'd given him years ago, as if she's seeing him for the first time, and he leans into the touch. “Because you're not just the scared boy nor the man who made all the wrong choices, you're so much more.”

 

She isn’t sure that her words convey what she means, or anything at all, for that matter, so she leans forward and closes her eyes as their foreheads connect. It's a tacit invitation and she can sense the longing, how much he has wanted to do this, just share.

 

He sees her mind, she feels it all.

  
They are free.


End file.
